


a morning's distraction

by framboise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, F/M, Gift Giving, Older Man/Younger Woman, Politics, Revenge, Scheming, Secret Relationship, Sugar Daddy, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 23:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18108812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/framboise/pseuds/framboise
Summary: “We could wait an hour, stay in bed until then,” she says, yawning and stretching her arms so that the covers slide down and bare her tits as he breathes a laugh.“It’s tempting, very tempting,” he says, leaning forward so the silken sides of his jacket touch her bare skin, so that he can press a dry kiss to her nipple that makes her quiver, before he pulls back, holds himself above her by his hands. “But we’re late, we can’t.”“Then I’m not coming,” she says grumpily.





	a morning's distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern AU drabble, with some teasing porn, a little bit of scheming, and really only the barest smidgen of plot.
> 
> Ages:- Petyr, 45. Sansa, 23.

 

 

“ _No_ ,” she says, her voice creaking with sleep, wriggling her head under the velvet bedspread, the duvet thick as a plush cloud.

It’s true when she tells Petyr that his soft furnishings are a major part of her sleeping over at his flat so often - that, and the frankly incredible sex. But it’s the last, and how, late last night, he had held her wrists down by her sides as he ate her out for so long she was wailing and gasping for air, that has her reluctant to wake up and emerge from her cocoon. But if she told him he had worn her out, he’d only smirk insufferably.

“Sansa, darling,” he says, as he strokes the back of his hand down her cheek, “we’ve got plans today, you know that.” She can hear the smile in his voice; how even this, her petulance, her occasional childishness, delights him.

“No, I don’t want to,” she says, aware that her voice has pitched into a whine.

She feels the bed shift as he kneels over her and, despite her resolution to keep her eyes shut, she can’t help but shift her face to look at him.

He is smirking, just like she knew he would be, and he’s wearing one of her favourite suits, the summer pinstripe number with the grey-green silk lining, the waistcoat whose tiny, neat gold buttons her fingers always find themselves grasping for.

“You were the one who wanted this,” he reminds her, unfairly.

“I was wrong,” she says, without meaning it.

He smooths a lock of hair out of her face, his thumb drifting to touch her bottom lip as she feels an answering twitch in her cunt. His eyes flash, like he knows.

“We could wait an hour, stay in bed until then,” she says, yawning and stretching her arms so that the covers slide down and bare her tits as he breathes a laugh.

“It’s tempting, very tempting,” he says, leaning forward so the silken sides of his jacket touch her bare skin, so that he can press a dry kiss to her nipple that makes her quiver, before he pulls back, holds himself above her by his hands. “But we’re late, we can’t.”

“Then I’m not coming,” she says grumpily.

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back here in time for you to _come_ ,” he says and then he leaves the bed and she feels even grumpier. Normally, nothing would prevent him from answering her teases, from taking every opportunity to show her that she’s his.

It had been his possessive nature that she was most nervous of when she started this thing - this affair with her father’s political rival, this terrible man who had manoeuvred nearly every political scandal of the last ten years behind the scenes, this man who used to be married to her _aunt_ – but if she was honest with herself, it was exactly the thing that drew her in too. To have a man like that on her side, to have that kind of unwavering devotion, sometimes it made her breath catch to think about.

“Now, don’t pout, you know I think you’re irresistible,” he says.

“Do I?” she asks tartly, sitting up on her elbows, watching the way his eyes catch on the slope of her tits and the slide of the covers pooling around her hips.

He stalks over to her and kisses her, wetly, thoroughly, before stepping back and righting his tie and waistcoat. “You do,” he says, voice deep, smile proud as she gapes at him and then huffs and flops back on the bed.

“Cheat,” she says.

“Pot meet kettle,” he says, raising an eyebrow, his eyes glinting as he strokes a fingertip down her the curve of her breast, making her shiver. He tweaks a nipple and then moves over to the desk and she makes a face at his back, feeling petulant, letting herself feel grumpy and childish if only to cover up the nervousness that’s lurking underneath.

“Now, would a present help entice you out of bed? Would it be enough of a reward for having to attend Cersei’s ghastly summer garden party for a scant two hours today?” he asks.

“It depends how many carats it has,” she replies waspishly, hiding her smile when he laughs. She loves making him laugh, delighting him.

“Hmm, will this do?” he asks then, sliding out a drawer and holding up a necklace with an obscene amount of diamonds.

“It might,” she says, a little breathlessly.

“But you can only have it if you get out of bed,” he declares, sitting on the edge of the desk, looking entirely unruffled, looking, she hates the word but she can’t deny it, _suave_ as fuck.

“Fine,” she says and whips the covers back and walks over to him, feeling a blush warm her cheeks at the way his hot eyes roam her bare skin.

“I knew you’d be amenable,” he says and she brings a hand back as if she might slap him - a jest, they both know, because after all the things she’s suffered, she has no desire for violence in her intimate relationships.

He catches her hand and kisses the back of it.

“You think you’re so smooth,” she says.

“I am,” he mouths and she snorts and lets herself be turned by the shoulders so that he can place the necklace around her neck - its four woven strands of silver, dripping with small bright diamonds, cold on her skin, making her shiver at the pleasant shock.

“There,” he murmurs, his breath soft on the back of her neck, her stomach warm as his fingers play across the diamonds, across her neck and collarbone, the tops of her breasts.

“A little too extravagant for lunch perhaps,” he says, kissing her neck now and making her swoon back into him, “but slim enough to be hidden underneath a innocent-looking cocktail dress and wrap, don’t you think?” he asks as her eyes flutter.

“Please,” she whispers.

His hand slides down her middle, finds her wet and aching between her thighs. “If you’re quick, darling,” he says, “if you don’t make too much of a mess of my shirt cuff,” he adds, an image which only makes her hotter. “Else everyone will know,” he murmurs, grunting as she presses back against his cock hard in his trousers, “what a wicked little thing you are.”

He has two fingers inside of her now, is expertly pressing the heel of his hand against her clit, and she’s whining and her hips are rolling.

"Come on, darling," he says, voice rough and wicked, "squeeze that little pussy around my fingers like a good girl."

She moans and reaches back to grasp at his thighs, to find her footing as he curls his other hand around her waist, as his hips grind against her backside.

“There you are,” he croons as she comes with a jerk of her hips, with a cry.

He holds her up as he removes his hand, as she hears the wet sound of his mouth licking his fingers clean, feeling an answering pulse in her cunt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she whispers.

“That’ll have to wait for later, darling,” he says and she turns around and kisses him, fumbles at his waist until he holds her wrists back. “Later,” he says, his voice buzzing against her lips and then, when she moves back, it’s his turn to swear at the picture she makes, flushed, naked but for his obscenely expensive gift.

“Fuck, you’ll be the death of me, I swear,” he groans. “Get in the shower,” he pats her on the hip and motions his head, checking his watch quickly. “We really can’t be late.”

“Don’t you want to join me?” she asks, reaching back to unclasp the necklace, not wanting to ruin it with water.

She’s fully awake now, her head clear, thinking about the garden party, about the guests, about hers and Petyr’s plans for the Lannister's grand comeuppance.

“Later,” he says, but she can see that it would take very little to get him to give in, to drag him into the shower and have him fuck her up against the wall while wearing his ruined suit, grunt as he comes inside of her and, _fuck_ , she really has to stop thinking about this and get ready.

“Later,” she says with a nod and hurries into his bathroom, catching sight of her dishevelled reflection in the mirror and pausing for just a moment to marvel at how happy she looks, at how somehow this terrible man, and this crooked path, has brought her more contentment than she could ever dream only a year ago when she was trapped in the Lion’s Den.

 _To revenge_ , Petyr had toasted her, that first illicit meeting with him, when she had answered the invitation of his constant gaze by presenting herself at his offices one dawn morning after spending the night weeping and raging alone at the Lannister's latest cruelty, at what she and her family had suffered.

 _To revenge_ , she thinks, later as she takes his arm and glides into the formal gardens filled with King’s Landing’s great and good, the green silk of her dress and white cashmere wrap against the flame of her hair - which she dried hurriedly earlier while Petyr watched her hungrily from the bedroom desk, tapping away on one of his many phones, finalising plans for this afternoon’s _surprise_ \- drawing envious gazes.

“Now,” Petyr murmurs to her as Cersei herself catches sight of the two of them and blanches, “shall we begin?”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been writing much fanfic recently, so I thought I'd just post this little drabble from my drafts in the meantime. There's a slight possibility I might expand this, although frankly I really have no idea what form their "revenge" would actually take...
> 
> my tumblr: [framboise-fics](http://framboise-fics.tumblr.com)
> 
> and there's a rebloggable photoset for this story [here](https://framboise-fics.tumblr.com/post/183450770752/in-which-petyr-and-sansa-have-a-mornings)


End file.
